“Thought maybe you’d joined a flock of woodcock and gone south,” he remarked. “Wonder you can leave the bush long enough to get your meals. Where’ve you been, Boy?”
“Nowhere much,” answered the boy, looking hard at his plate.
“Well, we had that teacher chap over again to-night,” said the father, “—smart feller that.”
Boy glanced up quickly and caught a gleam of humor in the speaker’s blue eyes. Then he looked at the girl. She was laughing quietly.
“The teacher says that you’ve been absentin’ yourself from school,” went on the man. “I asked him if absentin’ was a regular habit in scholars same as swappin’ jack-knives, and you ought to have seen the look he gave me.
“ ‘It’s a punishable offense,’ says he.
“ ‘Well, I don’t mind you whalin’ Boy some,’ says I; ‘I’m sure he needs it.’
“ ‘I won’t whip a big boy like him,’ says he. ‘I don’t have to, and I won’t.’
“ ‘Well, I don’t know as I blame you for not wantin’ to,’ says I. ‘Boy’s some handy with his fists, bein’ a graduate in boxin’ of long Bill Paisley’s.’ ”
The big man stood up and stretched his six-foot-two figure with enjoyment. In his huge fist the old fiddle looked like a hand-mirror. He threw back his shaggy head and laughed so loudly that the burning log in the fireplace broke in twain and threw a shower of red and golden sparks up the wide chimney.